New Ground
by J9
Summary: She always comes here after a case like this... (Homebodies post ep, Warrick-Sara)


**Title:** New Ground

**Pairing:** Sara/Warrick

**Spoilers:** _Homebodies _post-ep

**Rating:** PG13

**Word Count: **1,849

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Archive:** At my site, , Anywhere else, please ask.

**Summary:** She always comes to his door after a case like this one

When the knock comes to the door, Warrick isn't the least bit surprised; in fact, he's just surprised that it hasn't come sooner. Nor is he surprised when he opens the door to see Sara standing there, her face pale, eyes rimmed in red.

He'd known she'd come here today.

She always comes after a case like this one.

He steps back without a word, letting her across the threshold, and she doesn't speak as she steps past him. She doesn't smile either, or even try, the absence of even the attempt speaking volumes. Not as much, though, as her action when she takes off her jacket, hangs it up beside his. That's when she turns to him, walks right up to him and slides her arms around his waist. Her head rests where his neck and shoulder meet, and she is holding him as tightly as he's ever been held, burrowing into him. He bites back a sigh, holds her just as tightly, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"Sara…" he says after a moment, moving his hands to her shoulders, trying to put some distance between them, to look at her face, into her eyes, but she only tightens her grip, shaking her head as best she can given the limited space.

"No," she mutters. "Not yet."

This time, he doesn't hold back his sigh, rubs her back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. This is new ground for him, for them, because while Sara often comes here, in various states of upset, he's never seen her like this before, looking so close to collapse. Of course, no case has ever affected her as closely as this one did, the last few nights' visits had proved that, and he'd known, when he'd heard at the start of the shift that Suzanna Kirkwood had been murdered, that Sara would be devastated. Only when he'd heard that she'd walked away from the crime scene, hadn't even finished her shift, did he realise just how bad it was going to be.

And now, he realises just how badly he underestimated that.

He doesn't speak, knowing instinctively that no words will soothe her. Holding her seems to work though; her grip loosens incrementally, and the slight shudders that he can feel coursing through her slim frame seem to abate. Still though, it's a long time before she straightens up, steps away from him, and when she looks up at him, he sees that while she's not crying, while there are no tear tracks on her face, her eyes are now bright red, a sure sign of tears kept back.

She opens her mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it, shaking her head, one hand reaching up to squeeze the bridge of her nose. Her brow knits in frustration, and Warrick's hand moves before he's even aware of it, capturing her raised hand, gently bringing it down between them.

"It's ok," he whispers, though he knows it to be a lie. "Come on… let's get you sitting down."

He leads her into the living room where she sits down obediently on the couch, running her hands through her hair. He sits beside her, careful to leave her some space, just in case, but his arm stays around her shoulders, a reminder that he's here for her, that he's not going anywhere. Once again, he stays silent, waiting for her to speak, and when she does, her tone, dull and defeated, breaks his heart.

"They killed her, Warrick," she tells him, and he rubs her shoulder in lieu of platitudes. "They weren't going to take the chance that she recognised them… that she'd change her mind… so they…" She stops talking suddenly, twisting her head away so violently that he's afraid she must have wrenched her neck. "She was taking in the groceries… she never had a chance."

"We'll get them Sara," he says, and this, at least, he's comfortable with saying. Because Doc Robbins has done the autopsy, sent the bullet to Rich in ballistics, who is doing overtime even as they speak, running every manner of tests on the bullet. It's not as if they're short of suspects either, and he knows Brass is running hard with the case, determined that they wouldn't get away with it.

"Yeah," she says, and he's never heard her sound so bitter. "But it won't bring her back."

He sighs. "No."

She wraps her arms around her middle, pitching forward in her seat as if in pain, and his arm tightens on her shoulders, pulls her towards him. She resists though, straightening to rub a flat palm over her face, turning eyes that burn with pain on him. "You should have seen her Warrick… she was so scared… so scared." A pause, where she swallows hard. "She told me, you know… all about the attack… about what they did to her… she was just an ordinary sixteen-year-old kid, worried about having sex with her boyfriend… and then…" She stands suddenly, as if the thoughts in her head are too restless to allow for sitting, begins pacing the length of his living room. "What they did to her… I was at home, trying to sleep… I kept seeing those tooth marks on her back… except they weren't on her back…" She looks at him then, brown eyes meeting green, and while she doesn't speak the words out loud, he hears them loud and clear.

"They were on mine."

He wants to look away from the pain in her eyes, but he can't, any more than he can stop the words that fall from his lips. "Did that happen to you too?"

She blinks, surprise and suspicion replacing pain. "What?"

The word is a pistol crack in the silence of the room, but he doesn't blink, rises to his feet slowly. "Did that happen to you?" He keeps his voice gentle as he takes a step towards her. "When you were-"

He can't say the word, can barely bear to think it. He wishes, more than anything, that the next words out of her mouth will be a denial, but he knows better than that. "What… how…" She shakes her head, staring at him, arms hanging by her side, slack with shock. "Who told you?"

The last is an anguished whisper, and he takes another step towards her, wishing he could take her in his arms, knowing that she wouldn't allow it. "You did," he tells her. Her eyes narrow in silent question and he sighs, running his tongue along suddenly dry lips as he tries to frame a response. "You talk sometimes…" he finally says. "In your sleep…"

In point of fact, sometimes, she does a lot more than talk. Whimpers quietly as tears run down her cheeks. Thrashes restlessly, running from demons that can't be outrun. Calls out, the noise waking her as she sits bolt upright in bed.

However it begins, the end is always the same; Sara, slipping out of bed, bare feet hardly making any sound as she runs to the bathroom, where he hears the muted sounds of either sobbing or sickness or both.

Either or both look imminent now, every scrap of colour draining from her face. "I didn't…" she begins, voice trailing off. She tries again. "I thought…"

"That I was asleep?" She nods, he shakes his head. "No. Since that first time… no."

She stares at him a moment longer, then makes for the couch on legs that look somewhat less than steady, and as she passes him, he can't but notice that she's shaking from head to foot. She collapses on the couch, looks up at him with shock written all over her face, one syllable escaping her lips. "Why?"

He sighs, sits down beside her, once again leaving space between them, this time keeping his arm to himself. "The first time? I did get up… got as far as the bathroom door before I heard you crying. Which is when I realised that I didn't think you'd want me to see you like that." Her lips turn upwards slightly, and she inclines her head in his direction, which he takes as tacit acknowledgement that he was right. "Then after that? It just seemed like what you'd want me to do… so that's what I did. Stayed there, pretending to sleep… waiting for you to come back to bed."

Somewhere in his speech, she'd closed her eyes, and she opens them again when he falls silent. "I don't know why I'm surprised," she says, her voice a croak. "I should have known…"

"I guess… I figured that if you ever wanted to talk about it… that you would. That until then, you wouldn't appreciate me pushing you on it." He holds out a hand to her then, palm up, fingers slightly curled upwards, barely aware that he's holding his breath until h lets it out in a rush when she lays her hand on top of his, palm meeting palm, fingers entwining. Her hand is freezing, and trembling, and he wants more than ever to draw her towards him, but he knows he can't, not yet.

"This isn't me, asking you to tell me what happened to you," he tells her softly, just in case she misunderstands him. "I don't want to know the details, not until you're ready to give them. But I want you to know… I'm here. For as much as you need… or as little. Just don't forget that."

Tears brim in her eyes, which have lost their redness, and against all his expectations, she smiles, a real honest-to-goodness smile. She lets out a long breath, then leans into him, as if that action has used up all her reserves of energy. Her head falls onto his shoulder, his free hand moving up to her cheek, caressing the skin there before moving back, pushing her hair away from her face. From this angle, he can just about look down at her, can see her looking up at him, eyes shining. "Can I stay?" she breathes, and he chuckles.

"Wasn't planning on letting you go anywhere," he informs her, but she doesn't smile.

"I'm going to have nightmares… you know that, right?"

He nods slowly, hand moving back to her cheek again. "Just as long as you know that I'm not going to pretend that I'm sleeping."

It's a major change in their relationship, and as she looks into his eyes, not reacting at all, he wonders if he's pushed things too far. Then her head moves up and down, just once, in a slow nod. "That sounds… nice." She lets those words settle between them, then she shifts, moving closer to him, closing her eyes and pressing her body to his, just as she had when he first arrived at his door. He feels her breathing even out, knows that sleep is stealing her from him, and he closes his own eyes, leans them back on the couch and waits for the nightmares to come.


End file.
